Before we turn to stone
by VervainAndRoses
Summary: They had a beautiful life, they did.


**a/n: For Anna (Ceruleannight over at fanforum) who requested a fic with tears that didn't include Mary&Francis fighting. I hope I delivered. :)**

* * *

It's quiet as Francis and James walk back to his chambers. Father and son, side by side, one fair haired and the other with dark locks. The prince lessens his stride to match that of his father, which the older man pretends he doesn't notice.

"You should go back to the festivities, James." Francis says. "I told you I can manage walking to my rooms on my own."

James rolls his blue eyes in a way that so reminds Francis of Mary, dismissing his suggestion and turning into the next hallway beside his father. It's true that Francis has been feeling weaker the past week, but it is only age that bears him down, and the worry both his children exhibit is unnecessary in his opinión.

"I'm sure Anne is keeping everybody entertained." James assures him, a mocking half-smile on his face. "God help the groom." He adds under his breath.

"Hey, I heard that. Leave your sister alone." Francis admonishes him jokingly, even though his son is grown the joking rivalry with his sister continues.

"I jest, I jest." James throws his hands up in surrender. "I'll miss her greatly, but I'm happy for her."

"I am too." He says. His only daughter is wed and leaving soon, and it brings equal parts happiness and sadness to his heart. The wedding was a grand ceremony, his old friends in attendance with their children. The children of his friends who are now gone. Leith's son. Kenna with his late brother's children. His daughter, all in white, walking down the aisle, a wide smile on her face and the twinkle of joy in her eyes.

"Anne reminded me so much of your mother today." He tells James, unmistakable longing painting his voice. Twirling, barefoot –he shakes his head-, in her dress; every inch the happy bride. "I wish she'd been here to see that."

_Mary._ It's hard to believe it's been years without her. Years, alone. With his old hands, his bones that pain him, the weight of two countries that grows heavier and heavier on his tired shoulders since she's no longer been there to help him carry the burden.

It's been years, yes, but not enough time to get used to it. Never enough time to get used to waking up in the morning, alone; he still turns to his side and thinks he'll find her there, smiling at him in the pale morning light. He's still shook by the dull aching in his chest that greets him every morning and doesn't leave until he falls asleep, only to dream of her. He still looks to his side whenever something amusing, or surprising, or worrying happens; eager to see her reaction or seek her counsel, still is destroyed by the realization that he will never meet her eyes again.

He sees her in James and Anne`s dark hair, on his daughter`s gentle brown eyes. He feels her ghost walking the halls, the haunting a sweet sorrow as not remembering would be an unforgivable sin.

"I miss her too." James voice shakes him out of his grief, and he half-smiles sadly at his son.

"I know you do." He tells his son, finally coming to a stop in front of his rooms. "I'm sure she's proud of you."

His son keeps his eyes trained on the floor, his hands behind his back. He clasps his shoulder, understanding.

"You've seen your old father back to his room safely." He says in jest. "Go back to the party now. Dance with your wife, your daughter. God knows no man ever gets enough time with either in this life."

James looks up, his bright blue eyes meeting his father's duller, older ones. A sad smile takes form in his face.

"Good night, Papa." He says, calling him the name he hadn't since he was small. James embraces him, hard. And then goes back the way they came from, with a distinctive walk he clearly inherited from him.

-:-

Francis finds himself walking around bright, clear woods; past trees and a lake, that bring him memories of years long gone.

"I've been waiting for you." A clear, sweet voice says from behind him, and he turns to see his Mary sitting on a blanket beneath a willow, as beautiful as ever.

"Mary." He says her name in awe, and he's there then, in front of her, taking her into his arms and crushing her against himself as she laughs, delighted. He doesn't know why, but he's afraid of letting go of her. "I've missed you." He whispers, desperately, longing blossoming in his chest as painful as a wound.

"And I've missed you, darling." She tells him, and he pulls away, his brow twisted in a question. It all comes crashing down on him then.

She stops smiling, instead taking his hand between hers, her fingers tracing patterns on his palm. He looks down to his hands then, and finds they are young, not wrinkled. They are both as they were so many years back, when they got married. He knows it all then, how much time passed, how she's gone.

"Francis."

"Am I dreaming? " He asks her, dumbfounded. If he is, he prays that he doesn't wake up just yet.

"You _are_ sleeping." She only tells him, her smile somewhat sad. He wants to ask her more, to understand this beautiful, awful dream. But he pushes those questions back and takes her into his arms again, his hand on her cheek, his lips hungry and eager against hers, a kiss which she returns in kind. It's been ages, a lifetime, since he's tasted her lips. She's the first to pull away, reluctantly.

"They'll be cross at me." She says, apologetically; but before he can ask who "they" is, a puzzling image appears behind her.

In the meadow at Mary's back he can see flashes of his life. His mother and father and running with Bash and playing with Charles and little Henry. And her... sitting beside him in the throne room, the flowers in her hair. Her galloping away from him and running back to his arms. Their wedding. Her smile. Sparring with his brother. Their now grown up children running as babies, then his granddaughter running to him, her laughter fading as he looks back at Mary.

"We had a beautiful life." She tells him, tears falling from her eyes, and he thinks that his angel can't be crying if this is any sort of heaven.

"We did." He affirms, his thumb tracing patterns on her cheek. And then, understanding. "But it's over now, isn't it?"

She smiles sadly, and then raises her hand to his face, tracing his lips and the shade of his beard, glinting gold in the daylight. She nods.

"I've waited an awfully long time for you, my love."

He feels no fear then, only peace; yet worry for their children arises as he understand that by some miracle, his love has come for him.

"And James and Anne?" He asks, uncertain.

"They are both happy, and they will care for each other. You did so well after I left. James will be a great King." She smiles at him, and it makes his breath catch, even after all these years. "But I'm afraid it's time.

Should we go?"

He stops only for a second before nodding, his own smile taking over his face at the sight of her, next to him once more.

"I won't have you waiting any longer." He tells her, and she stands up, offering him her hand.

He can do nothing then but take it, and follow her into that blinding light. And he is finally, mercifully, blessedly, at peace.

-:-

The servants find the King of France cold in the morning, though there's a smile gracing his face.


End file.
